Storm Eagle broke his silence, looking at the map hearing the disharmony in their voices the anger in their words. It was time.

"Do not call down Grandfather Thunder when the silent kiss of Rattlesnake will suffice." he said, in cryptic indian fashion. He knew he was something of an enigma to the others, the rest came from industrialized nations, and even though he too was an American, he wasnt the same kind of American. He wasnt one of the loud crass tourist types who barked at the sights, cursed foreign food, and complained about how stupid the rest of the world was for calling soccer football.

"We do not need explosions, we do not need thunder and fire. We move as the wind, cutting through them, between them, until like corn before the reaper, they are removed." He looked them in the eye, slowly, and inoffensively drawing his bone handled knife.

"Do you fear death so much that it must be dealt from a great distance? Take a man by surprise, and let the steel open his throat. Death comes for him and there is no sound but the wind." He took his knife and stuck it in the table, the point buried at a point in the perimeter at a corner tower, the most removed from the compound.

"That would be effective, yes. Yet, you would trust us all to have skill at stealth. I know only a little of hiding, of sneaking. I doubt that many of these others are skilled either. " The German man almost smiles then, as he says, "But then, all of our trickery would require such a subtle touch." Axel's hands finger something in the pocket of his jacket, before he continues, "Yet they are not without their benefits. A fire, or explosion, triggered by radio, this would sow confusion in the case we are caught. Especially if we catch a few guards, and borrow their clothing."

"If we're gonna do the distraction thing, I think we better go with fire. There's always a firebug or two running around. Hell, I know a couple. But I'm thinkin' these two-" pointing at Axel and Lambrecht, "arrange it, and the rest of us make our way inside. You can catch up to us." She glanced at Lambrecht. "Silly question. You know incidiaries?" She looked at the info again. "Also, what kind of hardware are we gonna want to take? Weapons, I might could get it if Twinkles here can't." Deitrich glared at her, but said nothing. "Couple guys owe me favors."

"I can manage a small blaze, if you like. I shall have to do some preparations beforehand, but that is no trouble," said Lambrecht, and considered how accurate Storm Eagle's quaint tribal metaphors were.

"I can manage weapons fine through some old contacts I have, I'm thinking mostly submachine guns with pistols and knives as back ups. Going inside is going to be tight, I doubt the guards will put up a stiff resistance but this coorperation might be using mercenaries to guard the base if the competition with our employer is this serious. MP7A1, MP5, and compact Carbine variant of the M8 with MK 23s and P99 pistols. Most of this place look like offices and warehouse packed up with crates. Bigger weapons like assault rifles are just to clumsy in confines like this. The M8 also has a higher power and longer range than most carbines and should provicde effective cover if we encounter any outdoor resistance."

Morgan stared at the Russian for a full minute. They came from completely different worlds, and she was just beginning to appreciate the gulf between them. "Right. Okay. So, let's make out our Christmas list, and get this show on the road."

[OOC]Assume that you're character got anything required that could be reasonably obtained on short notice. I'm declaring a fast-forward, and we are now outside the warehouse getting ready to move in.[/OOC]

Morgan peered through the scope on her rifle. Not too many guards on duty; it wouldn't be much of a problem to get inside once the distraction went off. "You boys ready?" she asked Ryan and Storm Eagle. She didn't wait for a reply. "As soon as the others start raisin' hell, go for it." She pushed the send button on her radio. Each member of the team had one, good ones too. "We're where we need to be. As soon as you're set up, go for it."

Ryan did a final check on the MP5 submachine gun, the silencer was clean and the sights looked good. The big Mk23 pistol was loaded with the twelve round clip of .45 calibur bullets, equipped with a silencer also and a laser mudule. He wore a black kevlar vest, over an urban camofalge jumpsuit.

Lambrecht whispered into the radio."Roger."He quickly buried the small canister in the moldy leafs at the wall of the warehouse, and, moving on to the next one, planted another canister, and another, and another.When all seemed ready, he pressed a button. Sparks shot- fires burst up.At first, there was no reaction. Then came shouts. Lambrecht smiled.

His face painted black, Storm Eagle lifted his bow into the firing position. It was not a fancy new fangled mechanical thing, but a well used and seasoned hickory bow. The pull was heavy, and the bow could take down a buffalo, so a man had little chance of resisting.

The second arrow was being pulled out of the ground before the first found its target. Once the arrow has been released it will go where it will and no amount of looking will change that. Hell was starting to break loose as he used all of the arrows he had planted head down in the soil.

He carefully placed the bow in a place where he could recover it later and lifted a machine pistol into a shooting position and advanced behind Ryan. Even when there is no cloud, there can still be thunder.

Ryan eased himself forward, the MP5 thrumped softly and it kicked lightly in his hands, the bullets found their mark well. Each five round burst took out three men that came running over from a security outpost, Storm Eagle's arrows took down the other two. He moved forward slowly crouched over providing a limited target profile, he slipped the MP5 onto his back and drew the big pistol from his thigh. He saw movement threw the far door, and tweaked the thermal goggles down onto his head for a second, he counted atleast one about to open the metal door.

He raised the goggles and went prone, in a two hand grip. As a figure emerged from the smoke filled entrance Ryan let fly with two quick shots, even with the silencer the pistol let out a large bark. The heavy rounds hit the first figure and dropped him. Ryan slowly raised himself back to a half walking shuffle crouch, he got up to the wall and leaned slowly into the doorway, he couldn't see anything through the smoke and the fire by now interfered too much with the thermal goggles. He got in a cover possesion of the hall way and motioned for Storm Eagle to go.

This will be a night for the coyotes and the ravens, Storm Eagle thought as he rolled through the doorway. He rose into a half-seated fireing position, the machine pistol poised like a viper. Anything that moved died.

Morgan followed the other two, slipping along behind them. Her rifle was too cumbersome here, and remained slung over her shoulder. However, her pistol was doing a more than adequate job. Everyone she shot at went down. Unlike the others, though, she was not shooting to kill, merely to incapacitate. She saw no reason to go for broke here; that was the only lesson she had picked up from three years in the Wolf Pack. But there were not many guards to take out, after the first few. Everyone was on the other side of the warehouse, trying to get the fire under control.Within two minutes of the first sparks, Morgan, Ryan, and Storm Eagle were inside the warehouse. "So let's find that thing and blow this joint." Morgan started heading to where they had figured the most logical place for the crates to be was.

The pilot, meanwhile, has tucked the first of his own canisters into a bonaza find: right into a main power feed-box on an outlying building. The remainder are placed in a manner not entirely unlike Lambrechts, though as Axel strolls up to the demo-man, he does not yet detonate his. "The escape wave's planted, we may as well go ride the winds of chaos. The shadows of our little fire should hide us well."

There is an unnatural fire to Axel's eyes, to the tempo of his speech and breath, faster and more nervous than he should be. The tic at his cheek pulses out thirty-second nodes as he grins to Lambrecht, and starts to just simply walk towards the same warehouse that the others go to. After half a second of this, he puts down his head, and breaks into a run similar to the kind that a guard running to the scene of an emergency might use. Why shoot at them? In the dark, it's not like they can tell him apart from much else.

The air was think with the acrid smell of gunfire, and the coppery tang of blood. He dispatched a wounded guard with a slash of his knife. His old platoon commander in the special forces said when they were doing the black missions to leave no survivors. Survivors answer questions and give descriptions. Mercy and prisoners were for the regular army, special forces and mercenaries were shown no mercy, and thus gave no mercy.

More than once, his unit had captured mercenaries, usually Chechnians working to raise mony for their war at home. Each had been killed in a prompt and swift manner.

The crates had to be somewhere. He scanned the room, moving in a perpendicular direction from Ryan. His gun was raised, ready for action.

The distractions had been plenty enough. Between the fires and the other shooting, no one was going to bother looking specifically for Axel or Lambrecht, and so they reached another entryway to that same warehouse.

After a moment testing the aluminum door, a battle scared and dilapidated Uzi, complete with sound suppressor issued forth from a battered flight jacket. A single puff was all it took to lay waste to the handle's locking mechanism, a second to disable the maglock system above. It is with that crazy gleam stil in his eyes that the German pushes the door, letting it swing open, to say, "After you, mein Herr."

"Why thank you, good sir," Lambrecht said in mocking courtesy, stepping carefully through the doorway.He wasn't sure if this apparent utter chaos was really what they had wanted in the first place, but it would do for their purposes."We are sure this is the correct warehouse?" the Afrikaaner said, stepping into an aisle of wooden crates marked Danger: Contents Volatile. For all the outside commotion, it was eerily quiet in the warehouse.

Morgan slipped through the warehouse, searching for what they were looking for. She also screwed a silencer onto her gun; she hadn't needed it outside, but they didn't want to get attention here. She glanced at some of the crates. Marked "Volatile." What the hell was this company in to? She filed the question away for later. There. She caught sight of a guard still at his post. When all hell broke loose, and someone stayed put, they were usually guarding something terribly important. She sighed; there was no choice here, too close. After glancing around to make sure there were no other guards with in sight, she put a bullet into his back. She caught him as he fell, and silently lowered him to the ground. Then she signalled to the other two that she had found something.

Noting the crates about him, the German replaces the Uzi in the holster from whence it came, shrugging as the lightly-arrmored jacket falls back into place. "Not certain at all, but it was our best guess. Now, your instincts are probably as good as mine here, but something tells me we don't want to be shooting here if we can help it." He reaches down into his boot, to draw out the short, heavy knife there.

It is with a surprisingly light and quick tred that Axel begins to advance up the aisle of boxes, looking for a more central path through them. Would hate to have to search every aisle of this place, after all. Maybe there's a manager's room they can break into, find the manifests.

Ryan followed the German's advice noting the caution about volitile, he holstered the pistol and like wise drew a kinfe from his boot. Noticing Morgan kill the guard he picked up the body and opened a door marked closet and put the dead body in there. Blood was still splattered in some places but no one notcie with all the commotion right now.

Morgan quietly slipped up the aisle. Few more guards scattered around, here and there, but easily dealt with. She rounded one more corner, and there they were. The crates were fairly unmistakable; they looked just like they had been described. After looking around once more to see if any more guards were around, Morgan motioned the others over. "Well, here they are," Morgan whispered. "Shall we?"

The crates were big, and were the type generally used to transport complicated, delicate, and horribly expensive equipment. There were labels neatly pasted on them: "Property of Silver Corporation." But sure enough, one could just make out the stylized outline of a black bird that was the trademark for Crowe Enterprises underneath.

"Which one of these is the crate? None of them are marked, save for the label."Lambrecht peered around the boxes. Some smelled strangely, like a mixture of kerosene and cinammon, while some smelled merely of packaging, or of motor oil.The demolitionist ran long fingers over the rough, splintery wooden surface of a crate.

Storm Eagle touched the faint imprint of the crow logo on the box, now all but invisible under the Silver Corp paint and logo. He held his gun in the ready position, in the event that some of the guards would suddenly gain nerve and try to assault their position.

'Lets commandeer one of their trucks, and see about getting these loaded and out of here. I dont feel like carrying them out on my back." he said.